Alarm bells are ringing within the Democratic party as the US presidential race enters its final week. All but one of six national tracking polls show Al Gore trailing his Republican rival, George W Bush. After months of ups and downs, the past three weeks have shown Mr Bush maintaining a slim but steady advantage. The picture in key states like California, Florida and Michigan is more confused, changing almost day by day. But the impression has been gained that, of the two, Mr Gore is the more likely loser. Britain's bookies see it that way: Ladbroke's was quoting Bush at 13-8 on yesterday, with Gore at 6-5 against. If the theory that floating voters prefer to back the winning side holds true and the Democrats fail to turn out key voting blocs, like blacks and Hispanics, next Tuesday's result may not even be that close.

All bets will be off in the event of a late Gore surge, which some pollsters claim even now to detect in nine swing battlegrounds. But as Democratic nerves jangle, Mr Gore is increasingly campaigning against the backdrop of an internal inquest, a sort of antedated postmortem, his eviscerated cadaver still a-quivering on the operating table of opinion. He has failed to connect with voters, say the despairing spin doctors, scanning their charts and graphs. His body language is unintelligible, his alpha male traits too aggressive and inflated. According to assorted poll pathologists, he has blown the suburban women's vote, the youth vote, the Arab vote, the Catholic vote, even the Dubya-gets-my-goat vote. The Greens are his nemesis: if Bush does not dish him, then Nader's Raiders will. For all those Tipper kisses, the scales are tipping and his grip is slipping.

Much of this is vapouring, of course, mere election-eve hyperventilation in a race that remains too close to call. Mr Gore's failings as a candidate are more than matched by his opponent's vacuity. Yet in all the pre-match analysis, one crucial Gore handicap has been consistently underplayed. It can be summed up in three words: William Jefferson Clinton.

For a significant number of registered independents, the undecided voters who may swing the election, Mr Clinton's name is best not mentioned. While they usually agree that the president has done a good job, that consideration is outweighed by memories of his personal perfidy. Mr Gore has tried to distance himself from puerile Oval Office carry-on. But his close, eight-year association with the man who dilly-dallied into impeachment is hard to erase, especially with Mr Bush regularly alluding to the Clinton scandals and questioning the Democrat's own credibility. Mr Gore's understandable, necessary need to portray himself as his own man, and not the creature of his more famous master, has also inhibited his campaign strategy. His strongest card is the long, unbroken spell of prosperity since he took office as vice-president in 1993. But some leading Democrats complain that Mr Gore has failed fully to exploit this core achievement for fear of once again subordinating himself to the leader whose shadow he must escape. Instead of celebrating the past, he focuses on the future - which suits the arriviste Bush just fine.

Above all, as a campaigner, Mr Gore suffers by comparison with Clinton, king of the stump. Although the president has no equal as a get-out-the-vote man, Mr Gore had barred him from the fray. That he has now swallowed his pride, taken the risk, and called up Mr Clinton in California is a true measure of his party's alarm. If Big Al wins, Bumptious Bill will try to claim credit. If he loses, the Clinton factor will figure in the autopsy.